


Heart of Gold

by dance_across



Category: due South
Genre: F/F, Love Letters, Overprotective Big Brother Ray, POV Elaine, Secret Relationship, Siblings Gonna Sibling, romance novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_across/pseuds/dance_across
Summary: Ray finds a letter that he wasn't supposed to find.





	Heart of Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ButterflyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/gifts).



> Happy dSSS, ButterflyGhost! I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Thanks to [airspaniel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel) for the beta!

Elaine could have sworn that she put the letter somewhere safe—like in her desk, or in a folder, or in her purse to take home at the end of the day. But she didn’t, clearly, because there it is. On the floor of the precinct.

Fuck.

She lunges for it, but Detective Vecchio gets there first, with an apologetic “No, sorry, I got it!” Which would normally be a welcome thing to hear, since he’s the one who bumped into her desk and sent the pile of papers flying in the first place, but—

But, the letter.

Detective Vecchio, who is after all a _detective,_ spots it. He picks it up. Elaine watches with breath held as his eyes narrow, as he… oh, god, he’s _reading_ it.

“Here, let me,” Elaine tries, reaching for the paper in his hand, as if to grab both it and the scattered pile still on the floor, somehow, at the same time.

But he pulls it out of her reach. He’s still reading. She can see the words on the torn-out notebook paper, upside-down, in cramped script: _...it hath been but hours, and yet I yearn…_

It still smells faintly of lavender.

Slowly, slowly, Vecchio looks up, until his eyes lock with Elaine’s. “This is my sister’s handwriting,” he says.

Elaine is mostly frozen in place, but she still manages a nod. It is, indeed, Francesca’s handwriting.

Vecchio points to the top of the page. “It says, ‘To my dearest love.’”

He is calm. Very calm. Elaine’s heart starts beating just a little bit faster in the face of how very, very calm he is.

“Does it?” she says, feigning surprise. Which might be a dumb move, but it’s the first move that comes to mind. Elaine might be good at thinking on her feet about job-related things, but romance-related things? Not so much.

Vecchio narrows his eyes, his gaze piercing even from his awkward crouch on the dirty floor. “You haven’t read it?”

“I, uh…”

He holds up the lavender-scented paper. “There are two creases in this letter, which means it was folded up. Maybe it was even in an envelope. But it was lying flat when it fell over, which means someone _un_ folded it again. Probably so they could read it. And guess whose desk it was on?”

Okay, so the playing-dumb plan isn’t going to work. Elaine needs a new plan, and she needs one immediately. But the only other option she can think of is running out of the room and locking herself in the supply closet, which probably wouldn’t even _work,_ because she _knows_ these cops break down doors every other day just so they can feel macho or whatever, but the point is she really, really, really doesn’t want to deal with Ray Vecchio’s reaction to finding out—

“Who’s it for?” he asks.

Elaine blinks. “Wait, what?”

“The letter,” he says, clearly annoyed. “Who were you supposed to deliver it to?”

Oh. Vecchio’s assuming… ohhhh.

Despite this interesting twist, Elaine isn’t any closer to having a game plan. Should she admit the truth? Should she pick someone else from the precinct to throw under the bus? It’d be easy enough to tell him that the letter was meant for, say, Fraser.

Fraser, who is standing quietly and attentively behind Vecchio, a faint line of worry creasing his unfairly attractive brow. Elaine, who’s been hyper-focused on the letter up until now, notices him there for the first time, and she is very, very tempted.

_Oh, you know how Frannie feels about Fraser._

_I wasn’t actually going to deliver it._

_It was a joke._

But Fraser’s more observant than he lets on. He could read it. He could suspect, and he could tell Vecchio that he suspects, and—

“Me.” The word escapes Elaine’s lips before she means it to.

There’s quiet.

“You?” Vecchio says.

Elaine breathes, and she tries not to think about Frannie’s stories, the ones about her brother tailing the men she’s dated, watching them for even a hint of wrongdoing. She tries, too, not to think about the stories where he _found_ wrongdoing. She lifts her chin.

“I wasn’t supposed to deliver it to anyone,” she says, keeping her voice even and calm. “The letter’s for me.”

Slowly, smoothly, Vecchio pulls himself up out of his crouch. Up to his full height. Elaine can see the tension curling through his neck and his shoulders, contorting his face. He doesn’t yell, and he doesn’t do anything violent—but Elaine is struck by the sudden certainty that he very easily _could._

Then, Fraser reaches out and touches Vecchio’s Armani-clad shoulder. “Ray,” he says, softly and firmly.

Vecchio turns around to look at Fraser, who still looks vaguely worried but otherwise utterly impassive… and then, all at once, the fight goes out of him. He sags, and he shakes his head, and he turns around and places the letter gently on Elaine’s desk.

“I don’t think it’s ripped or anything,” he says awkwardly, and walks away.

Heart beating double-time in her chest, Elaine bends down to pick up the rest of her papers.

-

The letters, needless to say, were Frannie’s idea. Or rather, the original idea belonged to the author of a novel called _The Heart of the Courtesan_ and, after reading the book for the third time in as many days, Frannie insisted that she and Elaine adopt it for themselves.

“But we’re not _in_ a forbidden romance,” Elaine said. She had not read the book, nor did she intend to, although she liked hearing Frannie talk about it.

“We could be, though!” Frannie’s dark eyes were shining, her nails digging into Elaine’s thigh as she clutched it in her enthusiasm. Elaine would probably have bruises. She didn’t really mind. “I’m the courtesan with a heart of gold, trapped in a wretched affair with a cruel king, and you’re the sweet Arabian prince, here to secretly sweep me off my feet…”

“Arabian, huh?” Elaine said, mildly annoyed. “Because of the skin color thing?”

Frannie sucked in a breath, her eyes widening as she realized. “No, no, I didn’t mean—! I didn’t think of—You could be the courtesan, if you wanted! It doesn’t really matter!”

“It’s fine,” Elaine said, laughing a little as she squeezed Frannie’s hand. Frannie could be thoughtless sometimes, sure, but she was never intentionally cruel. “I’ll be your prince if you want me to be.”

Frannie, who had never exactly been shy about her damsel-in-distress fetish, gave Elaine a shy sort of look. “Really?”

“Or maybe even a princess?”

“Whatever you want to be,” Frannie said, lowering her lashes as a mischievous grin spread across her face. She leaned in. “As long as you come and rescue me.”

It was the cheesiest line Elaine had ever heard, possibly in her entire life. But somehow, Frannie made it work. Frannie made a lot of things work. She was kind of magical that way.

-

Elaine leaves at six o’clock sharp, beelining for the door and then straight to her car. She needs to get out of here—and not just because she’s meeting Frannie for dinner in an hour and she wants time to change first. She just really, really doesn’t want to run into Frannie’s brother when she’s not on the clock.

She should have called Frannie. That’s what she’s thinking as she turns her key in the ignition of her practical little car. She should have called Frannie and warned her, because what if her brother says something first, and…

She makes herself breathe. No. She made the decision not to call during the workday, and she should not feel guilty about that. Her desk is in the middle of the precinct, and Vecchio was _right there all day._ He could have overheard. _Anyone_ could have overheard.

So, no, she’ll stick to her guns and save the news for dinner.

She goes home, changes into a nicer pair of slacks and one of her best blouses, and she touches up her eye makeup. And her hair, too. And she puts on some lipstick, because why not? And she gets back in the car and heads out again.

A few months ago, when Elaine had first started dating Francesca Vecchio, she’d taken her out to a nice Italian restaurant, thinking that maybe it could turn into a regular place of theirs. But Frannie kept pointing out people that she recognized— _that guy knows my brother from school; the bartender’s dad used to date my aunt_ —and it seemed to make her uncomfortable. Not to mention it was distracting. So when Frannie suggested that maybe they could have their next date someplace not Italian, Elaine was relieved.

And so: Le Beau Canard. A little French bistro just far enough off the beaten path that neither of them had to worry about running into anyone they knew. Elaine found a listing in the phone book, and it quickly turned into their Every Tuesday Night place.

Elaine rushes through the bar area in front, then straight toward their usual table, where Frannie is already sitting. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”

Frannie pouts dramatically. “Ten whole minutes. I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

Elaine laughs and leans down to kiss her. Just on the cheek. She’s pretty sure the staff here knows they’re together, but there are other patrons around, and people can be weird, sometimes, about two women together. Especially when one of them has dark skin. Elaine has gotten used to being careful.

Speaking of which: “Fran, I have to tell you something.”

Frannie’s smile loses a little of its sunniness. “You’re not breaking up with me, right?”

“Wha—” Elaine nearly chokes. “No! No, nothing like that.”

“Good!” Frannie says, and uses one finger to nudge Elaine’s menu a few inches closer to her chest. “Then let’s order first. You can tell me once we have some wine. Or, ooh, champagne. Let’s get a bottle of champagne!”

Elaine smiles. “That sounds great.”

They peruse the menu, Frannie murmuring opinions about food as she traces her finger over today’s specials. Before long, a shadow falls over their table. Elaine looks up, wearing her best I’m-friendly-to-waiters smile. “We’re not quite ready to ord—”

She should have known. It’s not their waiter.

“Oh,” she says.

“Hi there,” says Vecchio. He doesn’t look as ready to combust as he did earlier. But he doesn’t exactly look happy, either.

“Ray!” Frannie immediately sits up a little straighter, as surprise and annoyance and alarm battle for dominance in her expression. “What are you—How’d you—”

“How’d I find you?” he says smoothly. “I’m a detective, in case you forgot.”

“This is what I wanted to tell you,” Elaine says, resigned. Instinct pushes her to grab for Frannie’s hand across the table, but she doesn’t think that would be the best idea. She fists her hands in her lap instead.

Frannie shoots her an inscrutable look, then turns back toward her brother, her expression finally settling firmly on annoyed. “Go away. We’re trying to have a nice night out.”

In response, Vecchio pulls out one of the two empty chairs at their table, and sits firmly in it, eyes on Frannie the whole time.

“Ugh,” Frannie says, rolling her eyes.

“You two, huh?” Detective Vecchio says.

Elaine’s stomach clenches.

“Oh, come on,” Frannie says. “Don’t pull the Overprotective Big Brother routine. It’s _Elaine._ You know Elaine.”

“Sure, but—”

“But she’s a woman?” Frannie interrupts. “I noticed that, thanks. So if that’s what you followed me here to say, you _stalkery weirdo,_ then you can feel free to go. Mission accomplished.”

“Three months,” Vecchio counters. “That’s what the hostess told me up front. I asked if there were two women here fitting your descriptions, and she pointed me over here and said you’ve been coming here every week for _three months.”_

“Well, it’s a good restaurant,” Frannie says defensively. “Not everything has to be all Italian all the time, despite what Ma tried to brainwash us into thinking.”

It’s like watching a tennis match. Except Elaine has no idea who’s winning. Maybe they’ll just keep going until one of them gets tired. She doesn’t have any siblings; is this normal?

“Three months you’ve been seeing each other, and you didn’t even tell me?” Vecchio says. He actually sounds kind of hurt.

“Oh, because you suddenly care _so_ much about my life,” Frannie says.

“Obviously I care!” he says. “You’re my little sister. I gotta look out for you.”

Frannie turns to Elaine, exasperation evident in the set of her mouth. “By ‘look out for me,’ he means ‘stalk whoever I’m dating and give them a hard time even though I tell him not to.’”

“Heh,” says Elaine.

“Only if I have to,” Vecchio says. “Only if I feel like you’re not safe.”

“Every single person I’ve dated,” Frannie corrects, still looking at Elaine.

“Not _every_ —”

“Marty. Andy. Tony.” Frannie counts on her fingers. “Vinnie. Other Vinnie. Other Tony. Carl.”

“I never followed Carl,” Vecchio says, and then squints. “Well. Maybe once.”

“Ha,” Frannie says.

“It’s like I said. I gotta keep you safe.”

Frannie leans in toward him. “You start following Elaine, I’m gonna tell Ma about that time you sold her napkin rings for beer money in high school.”

“How’d you know about—” Vecchio cuts himself off. “I didn’t do that!”

“They were from the _old country,_ Ray,” Frannie says. “She still wonders what happened to them.”

“I didn’t…” Vecchio shakes his head. “Look, Frannie, I just wanna make sure you’re safe, okay? People can be weird about…” He gestures at the two of them.

Frannie rolls her eyes again. “They wouldn’t have anything to be weird about if you didn’t come stomping in here, swinging your badge around, making everyone _look_ at us.”

Elaine glances around; only a few people are looking, but it’s enough to support Frannie’s point.

“I’m _fine,_ Ray,” Frannie adds, reaching out to squeeze his wrist.

“I know,” Vecchio says with a sigh, and puts his big hand over her small one. Any lingering scariness has seeped out of him, and suddenly Elaine can see why Frannie’s as close to him as she is. The overprotective big brother thing might be annoying and maybe a little sexist, but it also seems… well, kind of comforting.

“We’re both fine,” Elaine adds.

This time, when Vecchio looks at her, it’s with something akin to affection. He clears his throat. “Yeah, listen. The other reason I wanted to find you is, ah, I wanted to say sorry for how I reacted before. At the precinct. It was, ah, unprofessional and unbecoming of a, whatsit, _oh,_ and probably made you feel very uncomfortable, for which I am sorry.”

Frannie looks deeply suspicious. “Did Fraser make you say that?”

Vecchio’s face pinkens. “He, ah…”

Frannie turns to Elaine. “Was Fraser there when whatever-it-was happened at the precinct?”

Elaine nods.

“Thought so,” says Frannie.

“I still appreciate it,” Elaine says. “With or without Fraser’s input.”

Vecchio nods once. “We good, then?”

Elaine grins; it doesn’t even feel forced. “We’re good.”

“Now leave us alone,” Frannie says, and makes a sweeping motion with her hands. “Shoo. Shoo.”

Vecchio stands up. “Yeah, okay,” he says, clapping his hands together. “You two have a nice, uh… yeah. See ya ’round, Elaine.”

They tell him goodbye. And then he’s gone.

“Uuuuuugh.” Frannie crosses her arms on the table, so they cushion her forehead when she thunks it down. Then, slightly muffled: “You are _so lucky_ you don’t have any brothers.”

Up until about five minutes ago, Elaine would’ve agreed unequivocally. Now, though, she says, “I don’t know. I kind of like him.”

Frannie’s head snaps up. She looks utterly betrayed. “Oh God. Not you, too.”

“What?”

“Everyone, when we were growing up,” Frannie says. “‘Ooh, Ray’s so _cool_ and _suave_ and whatever else.’ Gimme a break.”

“But he _is_ cool and suave,” Elaine says, summoning the most somber, most serious face she knows how to make. She reaches over and takes Frannie’s hand. “And he’s not a stalker, he’s just _worried_ about you, and—”

“Excuse me, ladies,” says a French-accented voice from above them. This time, thankfully, it _is_ their waiter. He’s smiling, and he’s holding a bottle and a pair of champagne flutes. The bottle looks very, very fancy. “A gift from the gentleman who just left.”

“Oooooh,” Frannie says, perking right up.

“So cool,” says Elaine. “So suave.”

“Shush,” Frannie says, swatting at her arm. “Look, it’s even my favorite kind.”

Their waiter opens the bottle expertly, and pours the bubbling liquid into their glasses. “I assume you haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet,” he adds, “but I’ll be back in a few minutes. The gentleman will be paying for your dinner tonight, too.”

 _“Oooooh,”_ Frannie says, picking up her menu. “Okay, what’s the most expensive thing they have?”

“Frannie,” Elaine says with a laugh.

“I’m serious,” says Frannie. “Look. See? That steak looks _great._ You gotta get one, too.”

Elaine normally feels weird about spending other people’s money, but she can never, ever say no to Frannie. “And appetizers?”

“Oh, at least three each,” Frannie says. “Get him back in advance for all the following-you-around he’s gonna do.”

“But he said he wouldn’t,” says Elaine.

Frannie gives her a withering look. “Come on.”

“Ah,” says Elaine.

“I mean, he probably won’t do it as much as if you were a guy,” Frannie says. “But you’re still someone I’m dating. He’ll try to be good, but I give it, like, maybe a week, tops.”

“Well, if he starts following me,” Elaine says, “then I’ll start following him right back. How’s that?”

Frannie grins, big and toothy and gorgeous. She raises her champagne glass. “To my heroic princess.”

Clinking their glasses together, Elaine grins back and says, “To my courtesan with a heart of gold.”


End file.
